


i'm always in this twilight (in the shadow of your heart)

by serenitysea



Series: the golden age is over; olympians au [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-02-22 10:46:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2505026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenitysea/pseuds/serenitysea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>raina is the goddess of the underworld and trip is the god of the sun. </p><p>so basically, they're doomed before they've begun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> this is all molly and melissa's fault.

> **coulson | zeus** king of the gods  
>  **may | hera** queen of the gods  
>  **raina | hades** goddess of the underworld  
>  **mack | posiedon** god of the sea  
>  **audrey | demeter** goddess of the harvest  & fertility  
>  **mike | hester** god of family  
>   
>   
>  **trip | apollo** god of the sun  & music (twin to artemis)  
>  **jemma | artemis** goddess of the moon knowledge  & the hunt (twin to apollo)  
>  **maria | athena** goddess of war  & wisdom  
>  **skye | aphrodite** goddess of love  
>  **ward | ares** god of war  
>  **fitz | haephestus** god of the forge  
>  **lance | hermes** messenger of the gods  
>  **quinn | dioynsus** god of wine  & theatre

 

*

It isn't that they've never met.  
  
When you're on a council of 12 other beings and only have each other for company for a couple of centuries, you have an awareness that most mortals don't even come close to.  
  
So it isn't that they've never met.  
  
It's just that the god of the sun and the goddess of the underworld don't spend much time interacting — being the literal opposites that they are.  
  
Which suits everyone fine. It's not as if Trip needs to make a trip down to the underworld for any particular reason (so he doesn't). Raina has long forsaken her seat on the council and does not attend meetings with the rest of the 12. Her work is so consuming and constant that she cannot step away to help settle petty differences.  
  
So there is this… _awareness_ they have of each other.  
  
But it doesn't mean anything.  
  
*

A decade passes.

  
Raina shifts in her throne and sighs quietly.  
  
She has already judged several hundred souls this morning. It would be a small mercy to say that she would lose track before she reaches the first thousand but — that would be a lie. She never forgets. It's her job, after all. She is many things, but not careless.  
  
Death is her gift and so she can't exactly bemoan her existence. Nothing will ever come to knock her off her throne — mortals will always die — and hers is not a job that anyone dares usurping. It's too difficult. So she will always have a job.  
  
There is a flurry of sparks and Lance is standing before her with a crooked smile on his face. "Hello, my fair lady of the Underworld."  
  
Lance is all fast movements and quips. If he weren't her only fairly-regular visitor, she would probably be more tired of him. These days, the only reason he visits is to deliver missives from Olympus (council meetings agendas and outstanding humanity issues up for debate) and she can't help but feel slightly grateful for the temporary reprieve.  
  
Raina lifts a hand to stop the line of souls from going further into Purgatory and steps down from her throne to greet him. "What news from Olympus?"  
  
"The usual. Skye and Ward are _off_ again."  
  
She rolls her eyes. "At this rate, he'll have me wading through souls in my sleep. That boy has got to learn to settle down. What was it this time?"  
  
"Apparently Fitz was joking around with Skye and —"  
  
"— Everyone knows Fitz and Skye don't love each other _that_ way," she interjects peevishly.  
  
"Doesn't matter," Lance shakes his head. "Ward is dreadfully possessive of her."  
  
"It's going to be the death of him someday," Raina says, staring off distantly in the way she does when she's seeing what could be in the future.  
  
Lance knows better than to disturb her when this happens and he spares a moment for Ward, hoping the poor bastard will wise up before the goddess of love does him in for good.  
  
She sighs again, shaking free of her trance. "What else?"  
  
"Anytime you want a repeat performance…" He trails off suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows at her in a somewhat lecherous manner.  
  
The first genuine smile she's had in weeks blooms on her face. " _Go_ , Lance."  
  
"Because we weren't half bad," he reminds her, stepping closer.  
  
The laugh that bubbles up surprises them both, and she claps a hand over her mouth belatedly, as if shocked to discover herself capable of such an action.  
  
Lance's eyes soften and he clasps her by the shoulders firmly. "You should get out of here more. Try to see the daylight. It's the kind of stuff that would bring you life."  
  
The brief moment of familiarity passes with a deep chill as Raina backs away. "I have no business being in the light."  
  
This time he is the one sighing heavily. "You also don't have to be trapped in the darkness forever. You _exist_. I'm no expert, but we both know that couldn't happen without some life."  
  
"Give my regards to Olympus," Raina says, sweeping aside her black gown to reseat herself on the massive obsidian throne. A movement of her hand has the line of souls moving again and Lance is forced to step out of the way as they pass by.  
  
She is deceptively small and delicate, but he is well aware of her steel backbone that will tolerate no further discussion on a matter once she has made her decision. It's one of the things that makes her such an effective and fair judge, and thus — so well suited for her job.  
  
With a fleeting backward glance, Lance disappears from the Underworld.  
  
Raina feels the unwelcome sting of tears build up behind her eyes and stiffens her jaw, willing the emotion away. She has no time for regrets.  
  


*

  
Raina has sorted through the better half of a recent war of one hundred twenty men when she feels it.  
  
 _Warmth_.  
  
The kind of golden heat that sinks into your bones and warms you from the inside out. She has no time to process what this means before Trip is standing before her in his dazzling brilliance, wearing the kind of metallic armor that would look ridiculous on anyone else.  
  
"Damn, it's dark down here." He grins at her easily, amused at the silly joke.  
  
Raina has to remind herself to breathe normally. This doesn't happen to her. Ever. This has to be some kind of hiccup in her life, just a weird glitch of a moment. There must be some sort of reasonable explanation.  
  
"Trip," she begins calmly, willing her heartbeat to settle. "I have to admit, you're the last person I'd ever expected to see down here."  
  
He offers a hand to help her out of the throne and respectfully steps aside while she freezes the souls waiting to be judged. When she turns to him in askance, he smiles at how tiny she is beside him.  
  
"Something amuses you?"  
  
"You need to brighten up," Trip says, unconcerned with the chilled gust of wind that has accompanied her displeasure. "It's not good for a beautiful lady like yourself to be so down all the time."  
  
Raina can feel herself softening at the ridiculous pun, but her facial muscles don't seem much inclined to smiling these days. "You've no idea what it's like."  
  
"Oh," the smile fades and the warmth begins leeching from the throne room when he falls somber. "I just might."  
  
The moment draws out uncomfortably long between them and Raina finds herself genuinely unsettled for the second time in his presence.  
  
"Give my regards to Olympus," she finally answers, heading back to the throne because routines are nothing if not soothing in this uncertain sea of existence and she needs to feel grounded again.  
  
"Nothing's impossible," Trip responds cryptically, drawing her attention once more. "Think about it."  
  
*  
  
She doesn't see him much after that.  
  
Which is hardly surprising.  
  
They are total opposites and really, what use does the Sun God have for the Underworld? It isn't exactly his playground, that's for sure.  
  
It's just.  
  
Where he first arrived, there is something sparkling brightly. It doesn't look like much of anything, and she mostly ignores it.  
  
Until one day.  
  
One day it blooms into existence and a flower buds into her throne room with courage and sheer force of will.  
  
She stares at it, jaw dropped while two dozen souls file past. It takes a second to regroup and sort through them with the kind of distraction she is not at all proud of. Finally she reaches a natural break and steps over to the flower to inspect it more closely.  
  
It's _alive_.  
  
She is surrounded by death and darkness and somehow, there is a flower blooming in her domain.  
  
It should be impossible.

( _n_ _othing's impossible_.)


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the higher you climb, the harder you fall. consider this the calm before the storm.

Time passes.   
  
Whenever Trip visits, there are flowers that bloom in his stead.   
  
Over the course of a century, thirteen flowers come into existence. While they survive heartily in his absence, there is no denying the growth spurt and how they _thrive_ upon his arrival.   
  
Raina will occasionally glance over at the brilliant tiny garden during a particularly trying day's work and find a sense of peace that fills the empty spaces inside her.   
  
It is totally bewildering.   
  
And yet, the flowers continue to blossom.  
  
*  
  
Trip doesn't give much warning when he is due to visit.   
  
She can't figure out a pattern to his appearances and so she is basically caught off guard whenever he arrives.   
  
The tell-tale warmth starts at her toes while she's busy wading through an unexpected mass of earthquake fatalities and it takes her longer than anticipated to get through them. By the time she has finished, Trip is seated on the steps below her throne. He stares blankly out at the oblivion that is the Underworld and there's something melancholy about the scene it paints.   
  
She could try and gain some insight and read what has made the normally chipper god so quietly devastated, but it doesn't feel right. With the rest of the gods, she wouldn't think twice. They're all used to it, anyway; they visit sporadically to voice their issues and hide from the pressures of their jobs. It is implied that she will use her gift of sight to help them when she is able.   
  
But Trip.   
  
That is a line she will not cross, not until he gives permission.   
  
It seems in poor form to sit on her throne while he's deep in thought, so Raina heads for her quarters to attend to other matters.   
  
When she comes back an hour later, Trip is gone.   
  
There is another flower on the armrest and a thin papyrus underneath it.   
  
_Thanks_.  
  
She smiles.   
  
*  
  
Lance rushes into the Underworld (because he always seems to be rushing in) and hurriedly thrusts a scroll at her.   
  
Raina manages to snatch it before he disappears again. "Wait!"  
  
He pauses mid-dematerialization.   
  
"What news from Olympus?"  
  
Something impatient crosses his features and she wants to know what has him so worried. "Trip is out for the count."   
  
Her stomach bottoms out. It takes everything she has to keep her voice neutral. "What happened?"  
  
"He got caught up in the middle of one of Skye and Ward's fights. He and Ward went a few rounds."  
  
"— But that wouldn't do it. They're pretty evenly matched."   
  
Lance raises his eyebrows in surprise at her outburst. "Did you want to hear the rest of the story?"  
  
Raina firms her lips and stands placidly calm before him. Everything in the Underworld goes eerily still.  
  
"It would have been fine, but the scuffle knocked them into some of Fitz's weaponry and —" His voice fades into the background as her eyes close, picturing the scene too easily.   
  
Lance fidgets restlessly, clearly awaiting her dismissal.    
  
Raina summons a parchment and pen, scribbling hastily. A bright flare emits as she seals it with her signet ring. "You need to deliver this to Mack."  
  
It is not unheard of for her to send messages to her brother — and technically, this falls well under Lance's purview — but it doesn't sit entirely smooth with him.   
  
"Is this about Trip?"  
  
"Just go." Her voice is firm and brooks no argument. When he lingers as if to challenge, she adds, "Or do you want to be the one carrying the sun across the sky every morning forever?"  
  
Lance disappears.   
  
*   
  
She doesn't hear from Lance — or anyone, for that matter — for days.   
  
It is hardly the first time she has been kept out of the loop; The Underworld is not a place that the other gods like to frequent, as it reminds them of the possibility of their own demise. She understands. Even though she'll never die (mortals will continue to die and will thus always need to be guided into the afterlife), it is hard to take offense at their behavior. It has been this way for so long, she cannot really imagine a life where she receives more company.   
  
Days turn into weeks and weeks to months.   
  
Four months have passed and she still doesn't know what has happened.   
  
She refuses to use her gift because she considers it an invasion of privacy.   
  
*  
  
After the fifth month has passed, a blue note smelling vaguely of the sea arrives on her desk. It's from Mack.   
  
_He lives._   
  
She breathes deeply for the first time in months. Trip is fine. He'll be okay.   
  
It really isn't a matter of any consequence to her, it's just — he looked so forlorn the last day she had seen him and they hadn't had much a conversation and if she can help him in some way — he deserves to take a break every now and again.   
  
It was not yet time for him to make his way down here as an official resident.   
  
She hopes it never is.   
  
She returns her attention to the note.  
  
 _You are both too reckless for your own good, and championing causes that do not often deserve your support. Be **careful**. Be well._   
  
No one has ever called her reckless before.   
  
Raina prides herself on being level-headed and fair. It's part of the reason she has done so well in her role; her skill and strength to face the souls of the Underworld is not a job for the faint of heart — or for those quick off the mark and prone to emotional outbursts. Still.  
  
And the insinuation that she and Trip have anything in common is almost laughable. He's so strong and bright and open. She is nothing like him. She is darkness and death and oblivion itself.   
  
The most important thing is that he is okay.   
  
Raina glances over at the flower garden and sees another bud, struggling to sprout. She kneels beside it and cups the delicate bloom in her hand. It warms beneath her touch and unfurls slowly, revealing velvety soft petals rich in color.   
  
Against all odds, she laughs.   
  
_Nothing_ is impossible.   
  
*    
  
She's about to finish up for the night when a blazing light intersects her path. Heat beckons her closer, and she is drawn to it like the proverbial moth to a flame.  
  
Trip smiles broadly. "Looks like I caught you at the perfect time."  
  
There is no preface to the greeting, nothing of his injury or extended time away. While respectful, his gaze takes in her form quickly and sharpens as he notes the circles under her eyes and exhaustion etched into her spine.   
  
Ever the gentleman, he comes to her side and offers his elbow. "You good to take a break?"  
  
Trip will not interfere with her work and she knows that if she told him to leave, he would go without protest.   
  
"I'm done for now, actually." It's somewhat bewildering; the way her heart beats frantically like a frightened hummingbird deep within her chest. She takes a deep breath and wills herself to remain calm. Conversation is not something beyond her scope. "What brings you to the Underworld?"  
  
He gestures lightly and a meal appears on a long table. "Hopefully dinner, with a beautiful companion."   
  
Raina can't help but glance to the garden, where another flower has bloomed in earnest. She looks up into Trip's warm eyes and feels like a band has released from around her lungs. She struggles to regain the thread of the conversation. "Flattery will get you nowhere."   
  
"I know," he says, pulling out a chair for her. "That's why I'm a big fan of telling the truth."  
  
 _Oh_.   
  
She bites her lip, dipping her head to acknowledge the compliment.    
  
"So," Trip takes a seat to her left, instead of at the far of of the table as logic and decorum would traditionally dictate. "How was your day?"  
  
The question is almost too absurd to answer; this is not a thing that they do.  
  
Raina can't help it. She laughs.   
  
The grin on his face widens appreciatively. "That's better."   
  
They don't need to eat, or drink — not really. Their living is sustained by far more than insignificant food and wine. This is pretense and one that mortals persist in more often than she cares to count.  
  
But in the slightly brighter than normal Grand Hall of the Underworld, Raina sits and partakes of a meal with Trip and slowly, the stress and exhaustion in her body melts away.   
  
When Trip departs later, he raises his her hand to his lips just slightly longer than is respectful.   
  
"We're doing this again," he winks before disappearing.   
  
She has the strangest feeling of buoyancy as she starts her day anew. Her workload is the same — in fact, somewhat heavier than the days before — but it doesn't feel so daunting. She hadn't realized how crushing her duties had been feeling until suddenly — they weren't.   
  
Raina becomes aware of something nestled into her hair and reaches for it, only to pull down a delicate gold flower.   
  
Her smile is fleeting, but brilliant.   
  
*


	3. three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sad and so hopeful.

She wears the gilded flower in her hair every day.   
  
It becomes a part of her as much as the black gown and onyx signet ring that graces her hand and the scepter she uses (on very rare occasions).   
  
*  
  
There are weeks that bleed into months that happen to be particularly busy. (Ward and Skye are at it again and there's no telling when they'll stop this time.)   
  
She can do it all without help — of course she can — but she sometimes feels that the process becomes rushed, and that the proper attention and time is not given to reviewing each soul before sending them to their afterlife.   
  
Occasionally she will take on a helper. One or two of the faceless beings that guard the gates to the Underworld day in and day out. They don't judge or view lives — that burden falls to her and her alone — but they can help guide the masses along once they've been sorted.   
  
On a day that resembles every other — all those before it and the ones that will follow long after — she becomes aware of eyes upon her.   
  
This is not unusual, as the details of her appearance have been greatly exaggerated (a new and disturbing trend she just doesn't have the energy to do anything about) but this is not the curious gaze of the dead. These are eyes that know her and what she is capable of.   
  
She glances over to see one of her more trustworthy guards watching her closely.   
  
Raina lifts an eyebrow in question. "Something you wanted to say?"   
  
He continues to peer at her curiously. "No one would blame you. If you wanted to take a break, I mean."  
  
Their work is somewhat of a thankless one. As such, they are a closely knit group that does not partake of such trivialities like small talk or idle gossip. She has been nothing but fair to her assistants but neither does she engage them in conversation beyond the scope of their role.   
  
(Saying this kind of comment is unprecedented is the understatement of the century.)  
  
Raina goes absolutely still. Nothing moves in the Underworld for ten chilling seconds.   
  
"No." She doesn't turn around. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."  
  
She works herself to the bone that night and the night after and the night after that.   
  
When Trip comes to visit, she refuses to see him.   
  
He can't exactly argue with her — they aren't really _anything_ — and she is only doing her job.   
  
*  
  
There is a brutal war between some of Maria and Ward's best warriors and it seems to have found its way into the Underworld.   
  
Raina is forced to use the business end of her scepter to keep the two sides at bay and has banished more than a dozen to Purgatory. (Which always puts her on edge because she feels horribly guilty and that she should have done more; taken greater pains to understand the struggle they had borne; attempted to reason with them before abandoning all hope.)  
  
More than a few rude names are called between the fallen ranks and a skirmish breaks out. A battle cry is sounded and there are hard fists and bitter attacks from both sides.   
  
She barely avoids a set of meaty knuckles to her cheekbone and stumbles back into a pillar.   
  
(This is _not_ what her realm is about. This does not happen here. She does not lose control.)  
  
Frustration bubbles hot and fast and she brings the scepter down with a strength that echoes a shockwave through the Underworld.   
  
"Enough." She whirls around and zeroes in on the leaders of the disruption.  "Get _out_." Before the words have finished leaving her mouth, the men have vanished.   
  
She finishes the group with a swiftness that she is not proud of and begins to draft a note to Olympus. This is getting out of hand. This has to stop.   
  
When Trip arrives she doesn't even notice him, as she is furiously outlining grievances to Coulson.   
  
Trip clears his throat. "Is this a bad time?"  
  
It's like coming out of a daze. Raina blinks once, twice. He's still there.   
  
"No," she says, acutely aware of the dried blood that is stained along her arms and bare neck from the earlier fight. "I was just —"   
  
He takes in the brittle way she is perched on her throne and the vice grip of the pen in her hand. Her hair is out of its usual style and drooping slightly on the one side. For someone who is never unruffled, she looks like she has been put through the ringer.   
  
"Your flower is gone." Trip quietly responds, stepping closer.   
  
Her hand flies up, frantically reaching for the flower that is always woven through her dark hair. For a split second, something broken crosses her features before she closes it off and pulls into herself.   
  
"There was… some difficulty before. I must have lost it." Raina lifts her eyes. "I'm sorry."  
  
"Hey, no. Don't be sorry. There's more where that came from." He cards a hand through her hair and sure enough, a new flower has settled in. It's heavier, this time.   
  
She pulls it down and carefully inspects the new addition. It's still gold and beautifully done; only this time there are little onyx petals that sparkle like oblivion itself.   
  
"Thank you."   
  
Trip doesn't answer right away, though he does nod briefly. When Raina continues to stare blankly ahead, he clears his throat gently, drawing her gaze. She blinks again, as if surprised to find him still there.   
  
"When was the last time you took a break from this?"  
  
(Later she'll chalk it up to exhaustion that she isn't offended by his concern. Because logically, she knows he isn't suggesting that she's incapable of doing her job.)  
  
Raina opens her mouth to answer and shuts it slowly. She doesn't know. She can't remember.   
  
(And honestly, how _could_ she take a break? Her work has been unending for as long as she can remember and the past two decades have been nothing but a steadily rising decline of mortals.)  
  
"Tell me how it works."   
  
A small but humorless laugh escapes her. "Trust me, there isn't enough time in the day for me to begin to —"  
  
"It's not daytime," he gently reminds her, as if his very presence in the Underworld did not indicate it as such. "I'm not going anywhere."  
  
She could banish him. Actually she wouldn't even have to do that; they both know that she could ask him to leave, and he would. He would go without protest. For the life of her, she doesn't know why he wants to know what he's asking — she wasn't joking when she talked about the time of it all and how she would need more than his break when Jemma took over to carry the moon — but he's been so kind and so _steady_ that she doesn't have it in her to deny him this.

It will take more than a few days to explain it completely, so this, what he's asking, implies a sort of permanence to whatever it is that they're doing that they've never had before.  
  
"You _really_ want to know?"  
  
"Please."   
  
Trip is not one to beg. He doesn't often need to ask for anything more than once because his charm is so natural and effusive that most people are inclined to give him what he wants without question.   
  
But this — her work — it is so personal. It is such a part of who she is and how she exists that it feels strangely invasive to reveal the details involved.   
  
And yet.   
  
She wants to tell him.   
  
Wants the unspeakable _relief_ of sharing the knowledge and horrors and joys involved in what she does, day in and day out.   
  
Trip reaches for her hand and laces their fingers together, infusing her with a steady warmth that she didn't think she needed. She almost doesn't notice how her body stops shaking (when did it _start_ in the first place?) and the tension slowly unfurls from her spine.   
  
His eyes are kinder than she deserves and there is a lump in her throat that she has to swallow twice before she can speak evenly.   
  
Trip slowly pulls her closer until they are sitting on the steps of her throne together, pressed shoulder to hip and it is all she can do to soak up the delicious warmth he is sharing.   
  
"Are you sure?" She has to know if this is just a fluke, if it's something he'll lose interest in or —  
  
"I've been waiting for this," He says, reminding her patiently of his continued visits and wordless support.   
  
And she doesn't mean for it to happen, honestly she doesn't — but her head falls to his shoulder naturally as if it were made for just that purpose, to shelter her from the brutality of everything — and she tells him what her life is like.   
  
*  
  
(Another flower blooms into existence.)  
  
*


	4. four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's aos rare pairings weekend on tumblr! TRAINA EVERYONE!!
> 
> SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG

The tide changes and it isn't something she can honestly say she hadn't seen coming.   
  
Her dreams come too frequently to be written off as happenstance. Gods don't dream. She never dreams. She _sees_. And what she is seeing is not something she cares to face alone because in this — she needs an ally like she never has before.  
  
So instead of riding it out, when she feels a humming under her skin that rumbles deep in her veins, she does something she never has before.   
  
*  
  
Lance arrives in a flurry of sparks and his face is pinched with impatience. She hands him a scroll.   
  
"Bring this to Trip."   
  
Silence echoes for a good ten seconds.   
  
Raina lifts an eyebrow and tilts her head, using every bit of intimidation at her disposal. "Was I unclear?"  
  
Lance remains expressionless. "No."   
  
He leaves and she sags back into her throne, closing her eyes with regret.   
  
They have no time for pleasantries now.   
  
There is a war coming.   
  
And hard choices have to be made.   
  
*   
  
When Trip finally appears she is practically knee-deep in men that have fallen outside of Athens.   
  
"Need a hand with that?" Somehow he still manages to summon a blinding smile and fleetingly clasps her elbow, infusing her with warmth she hadn't known she needed.   
  
"I —" Raina opens her mouth to protest but a sudden rush of sixteen hundred men arrive at the gates of the Underworld and she has to grit her teeth to stay calm. Keenly aware of the hand still cupping her elbow, she turns and meets his gaze squarely. This will not be a walk in the park. She has to trust him, trust that she has imparted to him the accurate knowledge necessary to do the job correctly and relinquish the iron-clad grip on her control to let him do it.  
  
Sixteen hundred men and the count is rising — Ward is _absolutely out of control_ — this is getting beyond even _her_ abilities. She has no other choice.  
  
"Yes."   
  
Trip nods decisively. "Let's get to work."   
  
*   
  
After — once everyone had been accounted for and the new arrivals had stopped gushing in like a dam that needed stopping — she lets loose a quiet sigh. Gradually she becomes aware of an arm around her shoulders as it guides her safely away from the throne room and enters the massive hallway just off to the side.   
  
"Which way?" Trip sounds regretful that he even has to ask, like he doesn't want to burden her by engaging in conversation; not after the night that they had just had.   
  
Raina lifts her chin, gesturing to the left. She is too weary for words right now and there are bigger fish to fry.   
  
And in the back of her mind, she wonders what time it is for the rest of the world. She knows he must be going soon.   
  
At the entrance of the dark foreboding doors to her bedroom, he pauses.   
  
This is big. Bigger than anything they've been through so far.   
  
(If you can't trust someone with the lives of hundreds of people; you have no business letting them into your bed.)  
  
She lifts a hand and turns the knob.   
  
She lets him in.   
  
*   
  
When he leaves, he takes great pains to stay quiet.   
  
It's just.   
  
Raina hasn't had anyone sharing her private quarters in centuries. The noises she hears are not out of place so much as they are foreign and strangely unreal.   
  
She sits up in bed, acutely mindful of the way her hair tumbles loose over her shoulders.   
  
Trip's gaze appreciatively warms. "Not fair," he murmurs, flashing that quicksilver grin she has grown accustomed to.   
  
"It's not a fair world we live in," Raina says, with solemn eyes and a heavy heart as she gets dressed for the day. The black gown settles around her in a weight both comforting and damning and she doesn't know that anything so familiar could ever feel so much like a life sentencing and a curse at the same time.  
  
"You don't have to —" he struggles to formulate a response and she pauses; she has never seen him at a loss for words. With her knowing gaze upon him, he begins again. "I know it never stops. But you can rest a little while longer."   
  
The sigh that builds within her doesn't make it past her lungs. "No," she says, and awareness of the Underworld and the souls building at the gates suddenly press upon her consciousness with a ferocity that can only indicate that Ward is at it _again_. "I can't."   
  
Trip mumbles something under his breath that sounds like curses in a language she is not easily familiar with and yanks her against his side.   
  
She stares up at him with wide eyes. "Was there something you —"   
  
He lowers his head and kisses the protest right out of her.   
  
When he disappears she is left gasping into thin air.   
  
*  
  
Trip doesn't return for weeks.   
  
Weeks turn into months that pass into the better part of a year.   
  
And still.   
  
Nothing.  
  
  
*  
  
Slowly, the obsidian flowers begin to lose their petals.   
  
Slowly they begin to wither.   
  
And die.  
  
*  
  
Raina doesn't have time to worry about what it means because she is consumed with her work. Ward and Maria have kept her so horribly busy that she doesn't have time to breathe, much less spare a thought for the lack of warmth and — _other_ things.  
  
There is only the next wave of arrivals; the newest legion of souls to be sorted out; the intermediary steps to be taken for those without fair deaths.   
  
It is enough to sink her under — and she refuses to break.   
  
She pours herself into her work and focuses on the job at hand with a concentration that rivals Coulson when he has his mind to set an entire _culture of people_ to rights and doesn't stop to breathe.   
  
Breathing is for the weak and she — she is the Goddess of the Underworld.   
  
She has no _use_ for breathing.   
  
Not when the dead are waiting to be seen.   
  
And this is how Trip finds her.   
  
*   
  
She is well aware of the way her gown droops on her frame; how her eyes have veritable canyons beneath them. There is a lack of pallor to her skin that cannot be attributed to the Underworld alone.   
  
(If anyone can thrive here, it is her.)   
  
He shakes his head and slowly makes his way to her, mindlessly guiding away the souls that intersect with the path he takes to her throne. "What happened?"   
  
If the sight of him wasn't enough to level her to her knees, the concern in his voice nearly breaks her.   
  
"You're okay," she whispers, feeling every bit of her system droop once he has safely claimed her in his arms.   
  
"You didn't get my message?" He frowns, pressing his lips to the crown of her head. A solid weight threads itself through her hair and she doesn't have to look to know that a new obsidian flower rests in her hair.   
  
"No, I —" There is a minor scuffle across the gates and she shakily raises her staff, bringing it down with a finality that sends an infamous shockwave through the Underworld.   
  
The unrest actually _vaporizes_ as she sends them scattering into oblivion.   
  
It is not a move she is proud of but one that she has employed more than she cares to admit as things had escalated too rapidly in her realm.   
  
Trip watches her with wide eyes. "Why didn't you tell me it had gotten this bad?"  
  
"I didn't hear anything," Raina begins, staring into the distance with unfocused eyes. "So I knew you had your hands full."   
  
Trip has never before seen her use her gift of sight and so is very careful not to disturb her while she continues the otherworldly stare into the ether. It becomes apparent when she pulls back into the present, sharply glancing up at him with eyes that know all too well.   
  
"What news of Olympus?" She asks (because habits formed over centuries of time are not habits easily broken), alarm woven into her voice.  
  
"War," Trip grimly confirms, automatically nodding to half dozen souls that have approached the throne as special cases for judgement.   
  
Raina meets his eyes with dread and heavy concern and has to make a conscious effort to gentle her expression as she meets with the lost ones in front of them. She sorts them efficiently and lifts a hardly noticeable shaking hand to her forehead.   
  
"This is hardly —" She can't even finish her sentence, because the thought of Olympus at _war_ means utter catastrophe and destruction for the mortal realm. She'll be buried in work for half a century — and that is only a conservative estimate. It is more likely she won't have a break this side of the next thousand years.   
  
Not to mention the ramifications of the Pantheon being at odds. This is going to rip apart the laws of the Universe.   
  
"I know." He nods. "But this time, we're not going to be able to stop it."  
  


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ [](http://b-isforbombshell.tumblr.com>tumblr</a>.)


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